Chapter One Hundred Nine



Dani



After work, Eli and Ash go to my apartment to finish packing up my things. Understandably, I didn't want to go back there. Apparently, Eli said there isn't too much left to do and the removal trucks are picking everything up tomorrow. The apartment is on the market now and Connie says there has been some interest in it. Thankfully, we should have our new house by the middle of next week. We're just waiting for the money to transfer and the paperwork to be signed. Then it'll be our new house and we can move in.



Since the events of the last few days, I am a bit more nervous of this move. I don't know if that is because it's closer and more real or if it's because I feel like things are strained with Eli now. I almost feel like he is lying to me by not telling me about this case. I know it is a stupid thought. How can he be lying if he hasn't said a word? If he denied it then that would be lying, but he hasn't uttered a word. I haven't asked though, so I can't really put all the blame on him. I should be brave enough to ask him, but I just can't bring myself to do it. That's another stupid thing. He's never hurt me so what do I expect him to do if I ask?



While Eli and Ash are out, it's just Connie, Don and myself at the house. We've finished dinner and I'm clearing the plates when Don speaks to Connie.



"Do you still have some paperwork to finish up, dear?"



"Oh, yes. Thank you for reminding me. I'll just finishing tidying up."



"Dani and I have got this, haven't we, Dani?"

I nod in response to his question, but I'm not really paying attention too much. I'm lost in my mind again. I grab the plates from the dinner table and take them in to the kitchen. I'm loading the dishwasher when Don appears in the room. Instead of placing the rest of the items in or around the sink, he leaves them on the side furthest away from me and puts the leftover food into containers to store them in the refrigerator.



I'm so caught up in my thoughts, that I startle when he asks, "Dani? Are you ok?"



"Yes sir."



"Are you sure? You've been very quiet tonight. I know Eli isn't here, but if you want to talk about anything, I'm a good listener. I know it's not the same as Eli, but I'll help wherever I can. I just want you to know that."



I smile a little at him and thank him. We carry on working in silence for a few more minutes. In those minutes I am battling with myself on whether or not I should ask Don if he knows what Eli is up to. It might be easier to ask Don, but it might backfire completely. I don't think Don will hurt me or anything, but it might cause him to ask Eli about it. Then he will know I'm suspicious about the whole thing.



When the silence is almost unbearable, I say, "Don?"



His head snaps toward me and I see that I have his full attention. So I quickly continue before I lose my nerve, "Do you know what case Eli is working on?"



That's as good as any opener to the topic. If he says no, then I can just leave it and we don't have to say anything more about it.



He frowns, "I'm not sure what you mean, Dani."



Actually, judging by the look on his face, he knows exactly what I mean. However, I'm not going to call him on it. Instead I say, "Ok. Thanks."



He sighs, purses his lips and then says, "You know, don't you?"



"Know what?" There's no way I'm going to just reveal what I know. He might be talking about something completely different and then I'll have put myself in a hole.



"That I'm not being totally forthcoming with you."



I shrug and then nod ever so slightly. In spite of the conversation, Don chuckles, "Eli wasn't wrong when he said you know how to read people."



I don't know how to respond to that, so I say nothing.



Don sighs, "You know I'm not deliberately lying to you, don't you, Dani? He just doesn't want you to worry..."



I forget myself for a moment and pretty much exclaim, "How can I not be worried?!"



My eyes widen when I realize just what I've done and I freeze, staring at the ground. I don't want to risk looking up at Don right now. Even though they've never done anything to hurt me, the fear is always present and near the surface.



"Dani? I don't want you to be scared because you raised your voice. I want you to feel like you can express yourself around us, no matter what way you need to do that. Eli knows how difficult talking about your past is and he doesn't want to subject you to that unless you start the conversation. He also doesn't want you to be worried about what he's doing..."



I whisper, "Of course I'm worried. He doesn't know what these people are capable of. He doesn't know what they'll do to him. They won't just kill him, Don..."



My voice betrays my emotions, as I fight back a sob. I don't need to speak the words of what they'll do to him. I'm sure Don knows what I mean.



Don sighs and I see him purse his lips from the corner of my eye.



"Do you forget he's dealt with a lot of bad men, Dani? Do you forget that this is part of every day of his life? He fights people like this constantly in his job. In fact, since he was eighteen years old, he's pretty much been trained to deal with people like this. You need to trust that he knows what he is doing. He would never deliberately put himself in danger..."



My voice is weak as I speak, "I don't want to lose him. I'm scared of losing him..."



"I know, I know. I'm sure you're just as scared of losing him as he is of losing you. You need to talk to him about this, Dani. You can't avoid it any longer. I can see the strain it is having on both of you. I'm sure you don't want to talk about it, but you need to. You'll feel better after discussing it. If anyone can put your mind at rest, it'll be Eli."



I nod and mutter a thanks, but I'm not convinced. No one can put my mind at ease about this. I know what these people can and will do. I know that they have no intention of getting caught and they will fight to the death to ensure that. If they don't kill Eli first, then they'll torture him and do all manner of things to humiliate him. I don't think any of the team realize this. They have too much confidence in their ability and resources. It doesn't always go the way they want it to. They don't always get the result they want or need. Hasn't my life already proved that to them?



I quickly get through the cleaning up and go to bed before Eli returns. I don't want to go through the awkwardness we've started experiencing. I just want everything to go back to the way it was. Why did I have to meddle? Why did I have to figure it out? Why did Arrow have to confirm my suspicions? Before I settle in bed, I text Sam saying: Hi Sam, I know I'm supposed to have another session tomorrow night, but I won't be able to make it. I'm sorry. I'll see you on Monday.



She replies to my text: No problem. I hope everything is ok?



I don't reply. Instead, I place my cell on the nightstand and attempt to fall asleep. I don't want to deal with questions or prying. I'm consumed by my fears for Eli, the team and myself. I'm also worried for Don and Connie. If the devil man finds them, he will kill them. People like him are monsters and they will do anything to anyone to get revenge or send a message. Thoughts of all the times I was beaten, raped, and forced to do hideous things flash through my mind as I'm sleeping.





I'm laying in the dim light of this awful room. I have no concept of time, but it feels like I've been here for years. I can't really go by my body anymore, because I'm sure the drugs and the torture have aged me. It's not scientifically or physically possible to endure all of this treatment and not look and feel older than I really am. I have no access to a mirror, so I can't even look at my face. Not that I'd want to anyway. I must look like a monster and I can't understand why men would want to be with someone who looks so hideous. My experience in the outside world was limited. Well, my understanding was limited. I'm not a stupid person, especially if you go by IQ scores, but I have always struggled with social situations. I find it difficult to talk to people. Partly because my mind goes about twenty conversations in front of others and partly because people don't or can't talk about the same things as I want to.

Still, even though these men don't want to converse, they can't possibly find me attractive. Maybe it's nothing to do with looks and more to do with the fact that they can do whatever they like to me. There's no consequences for what they do. The only rule is that they don't break me so much that another client can't use me. That is what my life has been brought down to. I'm just a play thing and money maker for these people, regardless of what it costs me.



The lock slides open again. I'm sure someone else was just here. My body is trying to recover from the last client; although he wasn't that hard handed really. He simply wanted a woman to spend some time with him, so he could get his release. There was no beating involved that time. I almost scoff at my own thoughts. I'm being thankful for a simple sex act, rather than whatever else is involved in my life now. How messed up is that?



I'm slapped out of my thoughts by the palm of someone's hand. I hear him growl, "Pay attention!"



I sit up quickly, the dull ache in my lower body reminding me I can't move that quickly. I hate this man. I wish he would die. I wish someone would burst in here and kill him. Heck, I wish they'd kill me at the same time. I deserve it. I should have died with my parents, then none of this would have happened.



The bed dips with the weight of the man and I stare at my fingers. His touch has changed from the slap when he places his fingers under my chin, but then his grip turns hard as his fingers clamp on each side of my face.



"Look at me!"



I don't want to look at him. I don't want to see those eyes. The devil's eyes. I hate looking into those evil orbs, but I'm frightened of what will happen if I don't. So, like a good little prostitute, I look at the man that rules over me. I'm not stupid; I know he runs things here. I know he sold me to that disgusting, dirty, fat old man.



Before my thoughts can distract me any further, he runs his hand over my face, more gentle than before. The touch makes me cringe, but I know better than to show it. He mutters, "You're my favorite. You always have been. You're everyone's favorite. I don't know what we'd do if we ever lost you. I don't think we'll ever find another one like you. You are so good at what you do and the customers love that. They know you'll do anything they ask..."



Is he for real? These people don't ask. They tell me what to do and beat me if I don't do it quick enough. He's making it seem like this is my choice; like it's my fault. Like I really am what they say I am. Maybe he's right. Maybe I am a disgusting, dirty, prostitute. I don't exactly fight. I'm scared to fight. Those beatings when I first got here almost killed me. I don't want to go back to that. I just want to be free from all of this, but I'm scared that I'll be tormented even in death. I can never see my parents again. They were good people, something I'm very far from now.



The devil man stands, but looms over my body, staring at every inch of me. My skin crawls at his look and the fact he's just staring at me with such a greedy and possessive look in his eyes. When he's finished staring at me, he runs his fingers over every single part of me, like he's exploring every curve, trying to remember or creep me out. I don't know which one really.



I can feel myself trembling under his touch, even with the drugs in my system. Maybe a beating would be better than this. This feeling is awful. I feel like a piece of meat and he's a lion sizing me up. The feeling in the pity of my stomach is heavy and intense. I'm in suspense, waiting for him to finish the deed. I know what he's going to do, but I don't know when. I want him to get it over with so I can be left on my own.



He grunts, "You really are my favorite. I'd keep you for myself, but you're a nice little earner. Besides, you're getting a bit too used now. If I'd have got you for myself a little earlier, then we could have had some fun. For now, I just have to take what I can get..."



He takes what he came into the room for, violating me in as many ways as he can. He throws me across the bed, and leaves me to just deal with the mess.





I jump awake, with tears streaming down my face. I choke back a sob and then notice Eli isn't in the bed. He isn't even in the room and I start to panic. I snap the band on my wrist, but the bile rising in my throat snaps me out of my panic enough to remind me to run to the toilet. I mostly make it in time. Some of the contents of my dinner have landed on the floor in the bathroom, but I can't clean it up until everything has finished spilling out.



The tears are streaming down my face as the vomiting turns into dry heaving, and then shivering. I manage to pull myself together enough to climb into the tub and turn the water on, but I don't or can't find the strength to take my clothes off. I simply sit under the spray of water, curled up in a ball, shaking and crying. The memories are too much. That devil man is the most hideous and despicable person, but I don't think I'm that far off myself. I could have ended it. I could have refused and let them kill me, or maybe made it different. But I didn't. I didn't even try and I have to live with that for the rest of my life. I have to live with knowing I'm exactly what he said I was. A Bratva whore. Nothing can change that. I can change my clothes, live a 'normal' life and pretend I'm something else, but deep down I'm still the girl that was locked in that room. I'm still that disgusting prostitute that all the clients loved because I did whatever they asked. No one and nothing will change that.